


Things That Yet May Be

by Marta



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Family, First Meetings, Gen, Grandparents & Grandchildren, foresight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-21
Updated: 2011-04-21
Packaged: 2017-10-18 11:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/188606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marta/pseuds/Marta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galadriel warns against using the Mirror as a guide because "the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be, unless those that beheld the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them. The Mirror is dangerous as a guide of deeds." It sounds like Galadriel has had bad experiences with using the Mirror "as a guide of deeds." But when?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things That Yet May Be

**Part One**  

She knelt on the floor, carefully picking up the shards of glass. Why did it have to be this one that had broken? A sliver of glass cut into her forefinger, drawing blood, and she winced at the pain.

"Milady." The servingmaid's firm hands held Galadriel's steady. "I shall see to it," the maid said, smiling kindly at her. "Sit you quiet, if you please."

Galadriel nodded mutely and took her seat again at the table, pressing a linen cloth against her finger to stop the bleeding. She thought it odd that she had thought to clean up the broken remains of her wine-glass, or that she had worried over a loss of one goblet over another. True, this set had been gifted to them by Elrond on their five-thousandth anniversary, and so the few remaining pieces held a sort of sentimental meaning for her and Celeborn.

But that did not explain it. Whatever others might say, Galadriel was not overly tied to _things_. She rather guessed that her mind was still reeling from Arwen's words, so much so that she'd been grubbing around on the floor like a servant.

Celeborn looked over at her worriedly before asking the thought they both were thinking. "You dreamt, Arwen?" he said tentatively. "Do you remember anything of it, save the crebain?"

Arwen nodded. "I do," she said, "though, honestly, I don't see why my dream has you so worried." Wrinkling her brow pensively, she continued, "I was riding home from here. Haldir was riding beside me, and all about there was a mighty guard of Lothlórien elves. We had ridden south through Rohan and Isengard and were coming up through Eriador. We were just passing the west-gates of Khazad-dûm – I know because of the holly-trees – when I saw a long line of crebain flying overhead." She frowned. "No, not flying; they had no destination that I could see. They were wheeling all about like a vanguard and looking down on us, waiting to see which way we would go."

Celeborn closed his eyes for a moment as if mustering his strength. "It is an ill omen," he said. "The worst." Then, opening his eyes, he looked sympathetically at his wife before turning to Arwen. "It is a portent, Arwen. Thingol told us how the Valar often sent dreams to warn us of dangers to come, dreams that would take a form that spoke most easily to the dreamer. In Doriath, the crebain were a sign of death. My folk were not that given to superstition, but even Thingol ordered more than one journey delayed because he had dreamt of them."

"I didn't know," Arwen said, frowning. "But I don't see what that has to do with me, really. Crebain hold no such connection in my mind, and I never knew the meaning your folk put on them until just now. Surely it is a coincidence?"

But Galadriel shook her head at that suggestion. "If I dreamed of crebain, well, I might attribute that to too much rich food late at night. But not so with you. Celeborn's people are your people as well, and their omens are as imprinted on your soul as they are on his." She looked at Celeborn, unsure of whether she should say aught else, but then decided that she must. Steeling herself, Galadriel said, "Your mother had just a dream before... before that last ride across the Misty Mountains. Before she sailed West. Her dream included Haldir and a route much like yours. And crebain."

Celeborn reached out and grasped Arwen's hand in his. "We had thought to send Celebrían home by the southern road. Saruman still seemed a friend in those days, and you could never tell what foul folk might lurk along the mountain passes. We changed our plans because of her dream."

"I won't go home," Arwen insisted steadfastly. "Father can send for me all he likes, but I would not risk that fate for all the jewels in Formenos."

"It is hardly that simple," Galadriel said. "We tried to turn aside five hundred years ago, and that was your mother's undoing. For all I know, it will be our keeping you here that will drive you to ruin."

Celeborn looked across the table, his face suddenly the very picture of severity. "You must show her," he said, and Galadriel understood. They had tools in their keeping that might offer counsel – Noldorin tools that Celeborn was often reluctant to use, but useful aids nonetheless.

She nodded to her husband. Then, turning to Arwen: "Meet me in the gardens south of Caras Galadhon, three hours hence." With that, Galadriel set down her fork and left the table without another word. She found she had quite lost her appetite.

 

 **  
Part Two   
**

Arwen stood beside the silver basin, peering down at it. "It looks so... ordinary," she said almost in a whisper. "Like what my mother used to wash my hair when I was a girl."

Galadriel smiled at her granddaughter, though the mention of Celebrían pained her as much now as it had at dinner. "It was designed to look unremarkable, to the uninitiated," she said. "My maid thought it odd when I sent for it, for she thought it one more possession gathering dust in the store-rooms." She stepped toward the basin so she stood beside Arwen. "But in truth it is no such thing. Fëanor crafted it in the furthest West, and Maedhros gave it to me  after our kin was reconciled."

"What is it?" Arwen asked.

"You might call it a mirror," she said. "Though such a name is not wholly accurate. A mirror shows only what is, but this device shows things that were, and things that are, and things that yet may be. It is not unlike the palantíri, in its way, for it can reflect our wishes, or the lies we want others to take as truth. But even that is too simple. It does not tell what we _wish_ would be, but what might be. It reflects, perhaps, the pure potential of the world unfolding, and it presents it to us in whatever way our minds can best grasp it."

Arwen bent down, peering at the cold metal more closely. "What would you have me do?" she asked.

"I would not _have_ you do anything," Galadriel said. "Not for my sake." She set the ewer she was carrying down on the pedestal's foot and laid her hand on Arwen's shoulder. "I cannot tell you how to act in this matter," she said. "Fëanor always thought the wisdom derived from it could be useful indeed. I have seen battles far-off and have sent aid in time; Gondor now owes her very being to just such foresight. But as for you, I do not dare advise you _yay_ or _nay_. You must do what seems best to you."

Arwen pursed her lips together and stared down at the basin for a long moment. At last she said, "I will look, if you think it wise. But I will not swear to follow whatever path I see laid out here."

"That is good," Galadriel said. Picking up the ewer, she poured its water into the basin and spoke the ancient words that Fëanor had once taught her. For a long moment Galadriel saw nothing but the branches hanging overhead and the moon peeking through their leaves. But then the vision began to change. Those same trees yet stood, but now they were leafless, like the trees she had seen in Eregion before Nenya gave her the power to hold back the seasons' effects on them.

Yet they were doubtless mallorn, and the hill in the background with its solitary flet was doubtless Cerin Amroth. Galadriel saw Arwen reach out and run her fingers along a naked branch. Was that Arwen? She had thought so, but this elf looked so old! The woman looked over her shoulder, and Galadriel recognized those eyes with a certainty. The vision of Arwen smiled wanly, looking about her; but no one was there. At the last she lay down upon the mound and then moved no more.

Arwen, the Arwen standing beside her, stumbled backward, nearly falling over a root. Galadriel reached out and steadied her, and she saw that Arwen's eyes had grown wide with fright. "What foul witchcraft is this?" Arwen asked. "Why have you brought me here?"

"I am not a witch," Galadriel said calmly. "As for its craft, I cannot speak to that more than I already have."

Arwen opened her mouth as if to speak, but then thought better of it. Instead, she reached over, knocking the basin off its pedestal so it fell to the ground. Galadriel let it be for the moment. It had survived the world's reshaping – twice – to say nothing of long centuries in ignoble storage; it would last a few minutes on the ground with little enough harm. "I felt my skin grow cold," Arwen said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I felt my heart slow and my breath ease out of me. I thought that I had died. That I had died all alone beneath the leafless trees." She blanched. "Elbereth above, I cannot stay here."

"Then you will return to Imladris?" Galadriel asked.

"Yes," Arwen said. Then she shook her head. "No. Oh, but I wish I knew what to do!"

"You might go somewhere else entirely," Galadriel said. "Go to Thranduil's folk, if you feel so driven. Go to Rhosgobel, even; you have never met Radagast, and he can be a merry friend."

"And what then?" Arwen asked. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. More calmly, she repeated: "What then? Must I ever live on this side of the mountains? Lothlórien will always have a claim on me. Mirkwood, Fangorn, wherever else you might think to send me – I would feel like a stranger in those other woods. And I would always want to come back, to Lothlórien if I could not return home to Imladris."

Galadriel had expected that answer. "Then you should return to Elrond," she said. She realized that she was breaking her own promise not to advise, but the distraught look on Arwen's face compelled her. "The mountain passes have grown safer since Smaug was vanquished," she added. "And Celeborn will provide a retinue fit for a king's protection. He would go himself, if his duties allowed it. You cannot die beneath Lothlórien's eaves if you live far away."

"Yes," Arwen said, nodding to herself. "Yes. I will return home, as quickly as you can arrange it."

 

 ** Coda   
**

Arwen had felt a song rising in her chest since she had crossed the Bruinen several hours earlier. Much though she loved Lothlórien, Imladris was home. She had dismounted some time ago and let Haldir lead her horse back to her father's house. For her part, she longed to walk along the familiar paths of her youth. She knew these trees, and among them she could not help but feel safe. That was no small thing after her experience with her grandmother's mirror.

Behind her, Arwen heard a high-pitched voice call out to her. "Tinúviel! Tinúviel!"

She turned around to him and smiled broadly. The song that had been building within her, combined now with the absurdity of that greeting, nearly made her giggle like a child. "Who are you?" she asked. "And why do you call me by that name?"

His grey eyes grew strangely solemn. "Because I believed you to be indeed Lúthien Tinúviel, of whom I was singing. But if you are not she, then you walk in her likeness."

Had that line come from Glorfindel or her brothers, she might have rolled her eyes. It had been their favorite torment growing up. But this boy was a stranger to her and so she hid her irritation behind a mask of courtesy. "So many have said," she answered gravely. "Yet her name is not mine. Though maybe my doom will be not unlike hers. But who are you?"

His shoulders straightened and he held his hands behind his back, as if he were a schoolboy making a recitation. "Estel I was called," he said; "but I am Aragorn, Arathorn's son, Isildur's Heir, Lord of the Dúnedain." He smiled impishly. "I welcome you to Imladris."

**Author's Note:**

> The dialogue from the third section comes from the Lord of the Rings appendices. Much of Galadriel's description of the mirror (including the titular phrase) is taken from "The Mirror of Galadriel."
> 
> The plot bunny is taken from my friend Larry. He once pointed out that Galadriel warns against using the Mirror as a guide because "the Mirror shows many things, and not all have yet come to pass. Some never come to be, unless those that beheld the visions turn aside from their path to prevent them. The Mirror is dangerous as a guide of deeds." It sounds like Galadriel has had bad experiences with using the Mirror "as a guide of deeds." But when?
> 
> I have a vague memory that the Mirror was crafted by Fëanor in canon, though I can't find a reference in either the Lord of the Rings, the Silmarillion, or Unfinished Tales. So perhaps that is my own invention. In any event he seems as likely a creator as any.
> 
> Re: Galadriel's past involvement in Gondor's history. Unfinished Tales says that Eorl's riders were aided by a white mist that helped them reach the Fields of Celebrant in time to help Gondor in battle. Some of Eorl's men attribute this to Galadriel's intervention.


End file.
